Sunday, February 13, 2011

Lately, whenever agitated or provoked or actually for no reason at all, Greggory has been retorting with a "Well, you're an idiant!" Meaning to say idiot, of course.

I keep telling him that we do not call people idiants. Well, it's not nice, for one. I also keep debating with myself on whether to enlighten him on his mispronunciation. I mean, what if when he's 17 and in a fit of anger calls someone an idiant to their face? Not very intimidating. Not that I want Greggory to be a bully, but he really should correctly pronounce any threats.

It reminds me of a story that my dad told me about a student of his when he taught high school. If I recall it correctly, my dad asked him a question in class, and when the student didn't know the answer he retorted, "What am I? D-U-M?"

Perhaps.

I don't know if I will correct Greggory or not. But in the meantime, the word "idiant" will be put on our Words That We Do Not Say Because They Are Naughty List.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

This morning after I sent Brooklyn and Roman off to school, I was embarking on the task of cleaning up breakfast when little Greggory asked me if I wanted to play with him.

"Sure," I said. That sounded more fun than doing dishes. "What are we going to play?"

"Restaurant," he said, and continued, "I'm the Ice Cream Man and you sit here and then I'll give you ice cream and a toy."

I sat licking my fake ice cream--which happened to be a stack of rubber tires on a stick--and asked him if he wanted any food.

"No," he said knowingly, "Ice Cream Men don't eat." I nodded, agreeing with him. Soon Holland wandered over. I told her to sit down, too. Greggory, the Ice Cream Man, handed her a plate with a plastic turkey on it. She watched how I nibbled on my ice cream and then pretended to nibble on her food, too. Except her food got a lot wetter than mine.

We sat for a few minutes in the hall. I was thinking, this is so fun. And Greggory and Holland and the kids get to do this every day. What have I been doing all these years?